


You Will Never Feel Like You're Alone (i'll make this feel like home)

by rbcch



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Basically a common white girl of fics, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I just don't always love their actions, I still love all the queens, Idk what happened, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Out of Drag, Pining, Smut, Why she gotta be white tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbcch/pseuds/rbcch
Summary: And it's not like the two of them had ever been a thing. They hadn't. They had been a rapid-fire string of events, unconnected and insignificant.  They had been a trail of sloppy kisses backstage, a messy handjob in a toilet stall in a club, a tangle of limbs and clothes and trying to touch as much skin at once as possible. They hadn't been each other's type. They hadn't been a morning after. They hadn't been a message or a phone call. They had been a silence. They had been over before they had figured out how to begin.Or, Farrah is upset and Aja just wants to know why.





	You Will Never Feel Like You're Alone (i'll make this feel like home)

**Author's Note:**

> A smutty canon compliant(ish) out of drag Farraja that no one asked for but that still happened. I'd explain what happened here but I'm not quite sure myself, and now this fucker has been sat in my drafts so long that I need to either post this or let this be deleted. 
> 
> This is set in the aftermath of the fuckery that was S9 Reunion, which literally is my least favorite episode in all of the Drag Race herstory. Title's from Home by One Direction. He/him for Farrah and they/them for Aja because I'm under the impression that that's what they prefer?

“Okay, cut. I think we got it. I think we got everything we needed. Perfect. Ladies, you can de-drag now.”

As soon as Farrah hears that they’re dismissed, he rushes off the set, treacherous hot tears threatening to spill on his cheeks. He’s faster than any of them in his reactions, rushing down the corridor while the rest of the girls are still piled on the small makeshift dance floor, almost grinding against each other. He thinks he hears someone call after him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around to check if it’s Eureka or Kimora or someone else. He just picks up his pace and tries to blink away the tears that are beginning to blur his vision.

He runs into the dressing room, grabbing his bag and turning back to leave. He doesn’t bother removing his makeup or wig, leaves his boy clothes hanging on the backrest of his seat, too. He can get out of drag later, at the hotel, and he’ll pick the stupid clothes up tomorrow. Right now he just needs to get as far away from this place and these people as possible before he goes into a full meltdown mode again and ends up looking like all those memes.

He orders himself an Uber as he hurries through the maze of corridors, not really sure where he’s going but positive that he’ll eventually stumble into a way out if he walks in one direction long enough.

He’s not wrong and finally one of the doors he pulls opens into the fresh night air. He inhales a lungful and immediately feels it calm him down a bit. He stops fighting the tears and lets them streak his face with a pathetic sob.

He can’t believe the shit show that went down just minutes ago. He can’t believe the way Valentina was smiling at him, like she hadn’t let him down, like she hadn’t been ignoring him for five months, like he was just a little whiny girl who had imagined a promise of a friendship where no such vows were made. He can’t believe how Aja jumped in to defend him, like they were any better, like they were in any position to say anything or act like they cared for him, like they hadn’t walked out on him just like Valentina had. He can’t believe how they all just dismissed his feelings and what he was trying to bring across, how they turned his being hurt into a silly drama he definitely did not intend it to be.

He is upset and angry and frustrated, and when he is all of those things, he tends to start crying, which is exactly why he tried to flee as quickly as possible.

He wraps his arms around himself, not because he’s cold but because it makes him feel like he’ll be able to hold himself through this, to stay intact and together instead of shattering into a cloud of stardust and disappearing into the wind.

“Farrah?” someone calls from behind him.

His heart skips a beat and he snaps around, rushing to see who’s approaching him, as if he doesn’t know whom the voice belongs to, as if he wouldn’t be able to recognise it amidst thousands of voices, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of its owner every night lately.

It’s Aja.

It’s been Aja for months now.

They’re still in full drag, too, minus the wig, looking at Farrah with worry on their face and affection in their eyes and Farrah doesn’t believe any of it for a second.

“Are you crying?”

“Go away, Aja,” he whines, drying his cheeks with his palm and sniffling loudly.

“I kept calling after you, why didn’t you stop?” Aja says instead of listening to Farrah.

“I wanna be alone,” Farrah is plain annoyed now, his distress and frustration temporarily forgotten. “Go away.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Farrah says with pursed lips and moves his arms from around himself, crossing them on his chest instead.

“Here home or Vegas home?” Aja asks stupidly.

Farrah quirks an eyebrow and does his best to give Aja the look, which is not the easiest task in his current state. Its not even like he’s particularly known for being all that sassy. He’s whiny. And cute, and a lot of other things. But mostly whiny.

“Oh, the hotel, yeah? Can we share a ride?” Aja asks.

“No,” Farrah says sternly.

“Alright. I’ll just UberPool your stubborn ass, then,” Aja shrugs, reaching for their phone.

“Fine,” Farrah groans, defeated. “We’ll share a ride. Just don’t speak to me.”

Aja looks triumphant and Farrah shifts his gaze, looks at the pavement instead of Aja’s face because seeing pavement hurts less and makes him feel like he’ll maybe survive this car ride more. Neither of them says anything for a while , and they just stand side by side, and Farrah chews his lip silently, tasting the artificial cherry of his gloss n his mouth.

“Are you cold?” Aja asks eventually.

“No,” Farrah says.

“Are you upset with Valentina?”

“No.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“No.”

The car arrives then, saving Farrah from further questions. The driver gives them a once-over, and Farrah knows they must look ridiculous, two twinks in full drag, one with black mascara streaks staining his cheeks and the other missing a wig, but he spares them any comments and just starts driving as soon as they’re buckled up in the backseat.

The ride is silent, but Farrah can feel all the questions that are itching under Aja’s skin as they press their fingers into Farrah’s thigh right above his knee.

He rushes out of the car as soon as it stops in front of their hotel, attempting to escape Aja, but they’re right there, hot on Farrah’s heels, even if they have to push their shoulder between closing elevator doors to catch the blond.

“What is wrong, Farrah?” they hiss while Farrah assaults the button for the 23rd floor, trying to unsuccessfully will the stupid metal box to move faster.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he sniffles and fixes his eyes on the display where numbers keep turning up slowly but firmly. He stares at it for the rest of the ride up, feeling Aja’s eyes fixed on him.

He pushes past Aja as soon as the elevator comes to a halt, but the other queen is still right behind him.

“Leave me alone, Jay. Seriously, i mean it,” he groans desperately.

“What’s with the boy name?” Aja snorts. “Trying to be all dramatic and serious?”

“Is it working?”

“No,” Aja says casually. “I’m not going to leave you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Farrah lets out another frustrated moan and stops in front of his door. The drama of the moment is ruined a little when he can’t locate his key card straight away and has to tumble through his bag for a while. Aja leans against the wall and studies him with a smirk. Farrah finally finds his key and enters the room, slamming the door behind himself without any particular enthusiasm, knowing well that Aja will be able to follow him inside without an effort but not wanting to make it any easier for them.

The blond kicks his stilettos off and throws his wig on the dressing table and locks himself in the bathroom. Aja falters in the doorway, looking like they don’t know what exactly they’re doing for the first time tonight.

When Farrah comes back to the room, completely out of drag, Aja is sitting on the edge of his bed. They’ve found makeup wipes somewhere and they’ve removed all their paint, but they’re still wearing that ridiculous stupid amazing red dress of theirs.

“Why are you so upset?” they ask.

“‘M not,” Farrah lies. He _is_ starting to get upset and frustrated again, which means he’s got about four good minutes to get rid of Aja before he starts sobbing uncontrollably. “Please just leave me alone.”

“Is it Valentina?”

“Aja, _please_ ,” he pleads quietly, batting his tears away.

“She shouldn’t have said all those things to you,” Aja says gently, standing up.

“Stop,” there’s so many tears in Farrah’s eyes that he can’t see Aja properly anymore.

“She shouldn’t have treated you like that,” Aja presses.

“Aja, don’t,” Farrah whines, first tears starting to fall down his cheeks.

“She shouldn’t have pretended to care and then gone and disappeared.”

“Now you’re one to talk,” Farrah spits out, not managing to contain himself anymore.

Aja flinches at that, looks like Farrah’s words were a slap across their face, looks taken aback by then and the harshness of Farrah’s tone, looks like they were expecting anything, _absolutely anything_ , but this.

And it’s not like the two of them had ever been a thing. They hadn’t. They had been a rapid-fire string of separate events, unconnected and insignificant, not tied together in any way nor meaningful. They had been a trail of sloppy kisses, hidden in shadows backstage while Peppermint was entertaining the crowd onstage. They had been a messy handjob and hotly moaning each other’s names into the crooks of each other’s necks in a toilet stall in a random New York club during an after party. They had been a tangle of limbs and clothes and trying to touch as much skin at once as humanly possible while drunkenly stumbling into Farrah’s apartment after a Vegas show. They hadn’t been each other’s type. They hadn’t been a morning after, waking up with light in their eyes to guide each other home and bruised promises turning purple on skin under their fingertips. They hadn’t been a message or a phone call after that. They had been a silence, an empty side of Farrah’s bed and heart. They had been over before they had figured out how to begin.

And Farrah had accepted that. Farrah had accepted that this human being, who is standing before him with a hurt and confusion in their expression, would never be his. Farrah had accepted that this beautiful person with a septum ring Farrah wanted to pull gently between kisses, with tattoos Farrah wanted spend the darkest nights tracing with his fingers, lips, and tongue, with a tendency to speak in a silly Brooklyn dialect when they got too excited, and with the stupidest jokes Farrah had ever heard, this beautiful boy who turned into a beautiful girl who promised to snatch edges off of anyone who dared cross her, Farrah had accepted that the two of them weren’t meant to be.  Farrah had accepted that he had fallen, and Aja hadn’t, and that he’d have to pine and feel heartbroken for some time and eventually get over it and them. Farrah had accepted that without Aja he felt more homeless and rootless than he had felt even during the roughest months of his life.

“What are you saying?” Aja says after a long pause.

“That you’re being a pretentious hypocrite, going at Valentina like that tonight.”

“Farrah…” Aja tries to interrupt.

“No, Aja, I wanna say something,” Farrah sobs out for the second time that night.”I don’t know what you think you’re doing, rushing to my defence and acting like you’ll cut a bitch for me, but you have no right to do that. You have no right to act like we’re okay and make me feel like you care for me. Because you know what really upset me? Waking up and finding you gone did, Aja. Not hearing from you for months after that did. Not knowing what I did wrong did. You think I am upset because Valentina clearly doesn’t feel about our friendship the way I did? The only reason I was so adamant about texting her was that I needed to talk to someone about this, about us. I needed to speak to someone who knew you to figure out why we never stood a chance in your eyes, Aja.”

He is ugly-crying by the end of his speech, but Aja has a decency not to mention his meme-worthy sobbing.

“Farrah,” they try to start again, reaching for the blond.

“Why wasn’t I good enough for you, Aja?” Farrah cries, hiding his face in his palms.

Whatever reaction Farrah is expecting, Aja’s laughter is definitely not the one, but thats exactly what he gets. He stops sobbing in astonishment and peeks through his fingers only to witness Aja bent over, slapping their thigh and laughing like Farrah just told the best joke ever, gasping for air in between  their gales of laughter.

“You… Oh, my God, you. You are such a fucking dork,” they manage, still laughing and gasping.

Farrah lifts his hands off his face, looking confounded, “I’m not good enough for you because I’m a dork?”

“Oh, my God, bitch, no,” Aja throws their head back and continues cackling. “You’re an idiot.”

“Could you stop insulting me maybe?” Farrah pouts.

That snaps Aja out of it and they turn all serious again, “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to…”

They consider each other for a minute.

“I don’t think that you’re not good enough for me at all,” Aja says finally. “I think that I’m not good enough for you.”

Farrah feels his brows shoot up in a mixture of confusion and surprise, “What?”

“I’m nothing you’re looking for, Farrah,” Aja hurries to say, tripping over their own words. “I’m not a kind of a person you’d ever go for. I can’t provide for you, not in a way that you expect and deserve. I can’t buy you nice things and treat you to nice dates. Fuck, I can’t even afford a pack of fags sometimes. I’m not a sugar daddy material and you know I’ll never be with this line of work I’ve chosen. So I left. I didn’t want you to wake up next to me, I didn’t want you to wake up to a reality where I was just a drunken mistake, or, even worse, just a best friend you’ve screwed once, a joke that we would laugh at together. I couldn’t face a reality where I got taste of you and didn’t get to keep you, so I got the fuck up and left and listened to Kimora scream at me for it for three days straight.”

Farrah stares at them, blinking stupidly and opening his mouth to start a sentence but ending up closing it instead.

“Are you stupid?” he says eventually.

“Likely,” Aja shrugs.

“I don’t want you to buy me stuff,” Farrah says like it should be clear.

“I know that’s what you think now, but the fact is, Farrah, you’re used to certain  things in relationships, you’re used to be treated a certain way and getting certain things, and as soon as your infatuation wears off a bit and real life happens, you’ll despise me for everything I can’t give you.”

Farrah breaks into tears again, turning his back to Aja and weeping loudly.

“Farrah, please, I didn’t mean to upset you more,” Aja pleads, despair evident in their voice.

“You just called me a _pros-ti-tuuuuuute_ ,” Farrah weeps.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that, shit, everything I say just comes out wrong, Farrah, _please_.”

Farrah feels their hands on his body, they’re pulling him close to their chest and wrapping their arms around his waist, pressing their chin on Farrah’s shoulder and holding him tightly.

“I’m just trying to protect both of our feelings,” they whisper.

“What, by denying both of us the one thing that we clearly want?” Farrah tries to sound sarcastic but his tears make it sound mainly pathetic.

“Well, yes. I never said I had a good plan,” Aja chuckles and that elicits a broken laugh out of Farrah.

Aja twists his waist gently, urging him to turn around, so he does, faces Aja, throws his arms on their shoulders and looks them in the eyes. Aja’s arms stay wrapped around him, low on his back but not nearly low enough.

“I happen to like you a lot, Aja, and a trivial thing like your bank account balance or your credit rating won’t change that,” he says through a combination of smile and tears.

Aja lowers their gaze shyly, looking at the floor instead of Farrah, “I’ll try not to fuck this one up: I like you a lot, too.”

“Also,” Farrah says, “There’s always All Stars 3 for you to win.”

“Oh, my God,” Aja laughs, pushing Farrah away but reaching for him and pulling him back in instantly, placing their lips on his.

Farrah has been kissed a lot in his life. From that girl behind a dumpster in third grade (he liked the feel of her chapstick more than he actually liked kissing her) to that boy he lost his virginity to in the backseat of a car in the parking lot of a Jeffree Star concert (it was hella awkward and clumsy but in a endearing, funny way) to moaning into Aja’s mouth while they fucked him all those months ago (he hasn’t kissed anyone since). So he knows a good kiss from a  not so good kiss. And this one, it is a very nice kiss. It is just the right amount of lips, tongue, and teeth. Aja’s lips are soft and full against his, and they’re nibbling Farrah’s lower lip and sliding their hands down Farrah’s back, lower and lower, until they’re grabbing his ass. Farrah lets out a pleased purr that is mumbled by Aja’s lips.

They part to catch their breath and Farrah takes a step back. Aja’s hands leave his ass and Farrah slides his own down Aja’s arms, placing his palms onto Aja’s and lacing their fingers together. He studies Aja’s face, can’t wrap his head around how beautiful they are, cant understand why anyone would think otherwise. He lifts one of his hands, brings it to their nose ring and pulls gently, like he’s wanted to do for so long. A small gasp leaves Aja’s parted lips. They cup Farrah’s cheek and use their thumb to swipe away a tear.

“I’m sorry I made you upset,” they say, a merely audible whisper, a statement meant only for Farrah to hear, and what Farrah thinks he hears is an unvoiced promise of being a home and a guiding light and everything inbetween for him from now on. Then they brush their lips gently against Farrah’s face, kiss the tears away from the corners of his eyes, from his cheeks, from his jawline and chin and Farrah just closes his eyes, guides Aja’s  hand to the small of his back and just concentrates on the feel of skin on skin.

Aja steps backwards, tugging Farrah with them, lips still somewhere between Farrah’s jaw and neck, kissing and nibbling and mouthing tenderly. Farrah follows and the two of them stumble a little when Aja misses a step at the same time as Farrah takes a longer one, but they manage to steady each other, their laughter dancing in the small spaces between their bodies and their lips finding each other again.

They make it to the bed and that’s when Aja breaks the contact, circles Farrah swiftly and pushes him onto it. Farrah lands on his back, feet still on the floor, and he lifts his torso, leaning on his elbows and watching Aja closely. Aja starts to undress, struggles with the zipper of their dress and scoffs at that with an eye roll that doesn’t seem at all ill-tempered. Farrah lets out a breathy laugh and sits up to help them with the stuck fabric, flopping back onto bed soon as the situation is sorted, eyes still glued to Aja.

It’s fascinating to look at. Farrah was never about watching people de-drag, only ever really studied anyone getting in drag to observe and learn, not interested enough to just enjoy the act itself. But with Aja, Farrah could spend hours watching them cross the blurred borders between Aja and Jay, the creation and the artist, the doll and the puppeteer, and still be left hungry for more at the end of it. It’s like watching a magician perform, and the fact that Farrah knows all the secrets to every trick doesn’t spoil the entertainment in the slightest. He loves watching them transform from Jay to Aja and from Aja to Jay because he’s so goddamn enamoured of the both sides of this unique coin.

Aja manages to unzip the rest of the zipper way more smoothly and lets the dress slide down their body, ending up on the floor. They step out of it and kick it away with the tip of their heel. Farrah is completely frozen, barely remembering to inhale every now and then, captivated by the hottest not-quite-striptease he’s ever seen and overwhelmed by all the emotions it stirs up inside of him. Aja starts to remove their undergarments. A cincher goes first. Farrah parts his lips and whimpers. Aja slowly steps out of their heels. Farrah pinches his lower lip. Aja brings their hands to their back and unhooks their bra. Farrah bites his index finger to prevent himself from making dirty noises. Aja removes their tights with more grace than Farrah has ever had removing any piece of clothing from his own or somebody else’s body. Farrah has to shut his eyes and take a few deep breaths.

“Fully on the bed,” Aja commands when they’re lost everything safe their black panties. Farrah rushes to push himself to the middle of the bed, trying to remove his shirt while he’s at it, but getting stuck and tangled in it, failing to get it over his head. Aja cackles affectionately, but helps him get rid of the shirt with one firm movement.

The two of them resume making out, their kisses turning from soothing and sweet to growingly passionate and messy. Aja straddles Farrah and Farrah digs his fingers into their sides, dragging them down until their rest on Aja’s hips, the grip tight enough to let Aja know that he’s not letting them go. One of Aja’s hands is making a mess out of Farrah’s hair, pushing their fingers through it again and again and tugging very gently, so that Farrah can barely feel it, and their other hand is holding the side of Farrah’s neck, their thumb placed under his jaw, giving them an opportunity to readjust the angle of Farrah’s face to meet their lips better.

Farrah lets go of Aja’s hips and explores his whole body with his palms, fingertips, and nails, as if Aja’s body is Brailled with letters only he can read and he wants to learn every single story by heart. It’s almost desperate, how he slides his palms down Aja’s back just to bring them to their sides, stomach, and chest, and end up tracing their spine again, as if he’s afraid he’ll miss an inch of skin somewhere.

Aja pushes him down onto pillows by his shoulders and sucks a hickey on his neck.

“Girl, we’re filming tomorrow,” Farrah whines, resenting himself for being secretly satisfied by an idea of Aja marking him.

“Good,” Aja smirks into his collarbone. “Let them know that you work hard for that last name of yours.”

Farrah slaps their bicep gently with a giggle that is replaced by the loudest whimper-moan he’s ever produced when Aja slides their hand down his upper body and into his sweatpants without the slightest hesitation. They wrap their fingers around Farrah’s half-hard dick, slide their thumb gently over the tip, and pump their fist lazily up and down, and Farrah feels himself stiffen in response immediately.

“Fu-u-u-uck, Aja,” he whines breathlessly. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this,, and it’s so good, physically, it’s so amazing, but what makes it even better is that it’s Aja touching him, it’s the one person he’s been thinking and dreaming about almost obsessively ever since they walked into that workroom and dropped their black frock (and maybe Farrah’s panties while at it). Aja’s eyes are glued to Farrah’s while their hand takes Farrah apart, and the situation is so intense that Farrah just wants to close his eyes or look away but he’s transfixed, completely unable to move, so he stares back at Aja.

Aja presses another kiss on Farrah’s open mouth, but they’re gone before Farrah has time to react, pushing themsellf further down Farrah’s legs. They let go of Farrah’s dick and Farrah lets out a disappointed _aww_ at that, which makes Aja breathe out a small, endeared chuckle. They hook their fingers under the waistband of Farrah’s pants and tuck gently. It takes Farrah a moment to realise that Aja wants him to lift his ass off the bed and another moment to remember how to use his muscles, but he finally does, and Aja starts removing the piece of clothing. The two of them struggle a little bit at Farrah’s feet when Farrah tries to kick the pants off, impatient to send them flying, and ends up almost kicking Aja in the face.

“Bitch,” Aja cackles, facepalming at Farrah’s struggle.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry, I am _so_ sorry, are you okay?” Farrah cries out in panic, but Aja shuts him up with lips on his lips and a hand on his dick.

Farrah could come like this, with Aja’s hot mouth against his skin and their hand working his length, but Aja seems to have other plans. They abandon Farrah’s lips yet again, press a teasing little peck on his Adam’s apple before licking their way down Farrah’s body, all the way to one of Farrah’s thighs. They spread Farrah’s legs with a firm movement and position themselvf between them, licking Farrah’s inner thigh teasingly, their hand still on Farrah’s dick, but their grip considerably looser now. Farrah wants to cry again, this time overwhelmed by positive emotions.

It’s frustrating and exciting at the same time, the way Aja sucks and bites Farrah’s skin so close to his dick, the wait, the simultaneous desire to get more, to cease the release, and the hope of this lasting for forever more, the way the anticipation is tight in the pit of his stomach.

Farrah curses out loud when Aja, _at fucking last_ , draws their tongue up the underside of his dick and licks pre-cum off of its tip before taking Farrah into their mouth. They twirl their tongue around the tip, and Farrah moans so loudly he almost scares himself. Aja sinks their mouth lower on Farrah’s length and Farrah involuntarily jerks his hips upward, unable to contain himself, hitting the back of Aja’s throat. They just calmly but firmly push Farrah back onto bed, pinning him against the sheets in indication of wanting to control the situation, and Farrah whimpers in a sign of surrendering completely.

Aja’s one hand stays on Farrah’s hip while they bring the other one to the base of Farrah’s dick and stroke in sync with their mouth moving up and down.  Farrah lifts his upper body to find Aja’s eyes, and neither of them breaks the eye contact for the longest time. Aja looks absolutely sinful with their mouth stretched around Farrah, lips glistening with spit and pre-cum, looking at Farrah through their lashes, and Farrah feels disconnected from everything except this moment right here and this person bringing  him indescribable pleasure.

And just as Farrah thinks there’s no possible way this could get any better, Aja flicks his wrist confidently and fucking _hums_ around Farrah, a low sound produced somewhere in the very back of their throat. The vibrations Farrah feels on his dick send shocks all over his body, and he flops back onto pillows, unable to support himself anymore. Aja hums again, a longer sound this time, and all the muscles of Farrah’s lower half just tense, feeling so sensitive even the smallest contact sends shudders down Farrah’s body. Farrah is breathlessly gasping.

Aja concentrates on the tip of Farrah’s dick again, and they let of of Farrah’s hip — not that Farrah has needed pinning down for the last five minutes as he can’t even lift his head, let alone his hips — and push two of their fingers between Farrah’s parted lips. He instinctively closes his mouth around them and sucks, drawing a pleased sound out of Aja.

Soon enough, Aja removes their fingers, slick with Farrah’s spit, and Farrah is left to suck his lower lip to compensate for the lack of anything better, but before he can whine about it, he feels Aja’s hand between his cheeks, so he whimpers instead. Aja’s fingers brush lightly against his entrance, playful and teasing, and Farrah is lost for any coherent words or thoughts other than _please_ and _god_ and _Jay_.

Their mouth and tongue still taking Farrah apart, Aja pushes their middle finger inside of him, and they add their index finger when Farrah utters an encouraging nonsense and manages to wiggle his ass against Aja’s hand. They move their fingers tentatively until they find Farrah’s prostate, and Farrah lets out an animalistic howl when they brush their fingers over it repeatedly.

Aja just keeps twirling their tongue and twisting their fingers, and Farrah is fucking gone, somewhere so out of this realm that he’s seeing shooting stars whenever he closes his eyes. He feels the orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach, a sweet, pleasurable torture that threatens to overpower him.

He tries to warn Aja, he genuinely does, but all he manages before he releases is a sob and a broken and hoarse _Oh, Aja_. He feels then swallow around him and he whimpers a little at how hot it is and how good he feels.

While Farrah is basking in his post-orgasmic bliss, Aja detaches themselvf from him and sits on their knees next to him, palming their own hard dick through the thin fabric of their panties. Farrah can’t help but stare at them through his half-hooded lids, his lips parted and his gaze hazed, completely hypnotised by the show unfolding before his eyes.

Aja is breathing heavily and letting out little grunts as they pull their panties down, and some nonsensical thought of them not being tucked crosses Farrah’s mind but it’s gone as quickly as it emerged when he sees Aja’s hard dick standing up against their stomach. A filthy moan escapes Farrah’s lips, and he can’t really be embarrassed by it; he’d probably be begging to have Aja inside of him immediately if he weren’t so sensitive from his orgasm. Aja wraps their hand around themself and throws their head back with a groan.

“C’mere,” Farrah whispers reaching for them when he’s caught enough breath to speak and move again.

Aja leans over him, holding themself above Farrah with one arm. Farrah tries to pull then even closer, gripping them like he’s afraid they’re gonna slip through his fingers and disappear at any  given moment. His hand joins theirs on their length and Aja sighs with pleasure at that, relaxing their muscles and letting Farrah set the pace of their strokes.

As the two of them jerk Aja off, they press their forehead against Farrah’s. It’s too close for the two of them to actually look each other in the eyes, and neither of them closes the distance between their lips to kiss, but the way they pant into each other’s mouths and breathe in each other’s scent makes all of this feel more intimate than Farrah thinks he’s felt with anyone in ages, maybe even ever.

After a while, Aja removes their hand from their dick and pushes it into Farrah’s hair, tangling it roughly in their fist.

All Farrah really wants is to make this as good for Aja as they made it for him, so he does every trick in the book he can think of. He flicks and twists his wrist, varies the length and the speed of his strokes, changes the tightness of his grip, and pays special attention to the tip of Aja’s dick, smearing pre-cum everywhere, and if the way Aja is becoming a moaning, shaking mess above him is any indication, he’s doing something right.

He feels Aja tense under his touch, so he shortens and quickens his movements, which makes Aja gasp desperately.

“Farrah, baby, fuck,” they mumble as they orgasm, and Farrah strokes them through it while their whole body spasms and shakes.

Aja moves away from him, their gaze still unfixed and wild, and Farrah brings his hand to his mouth to lick Aja’s come off of his fingers. Aja moans loudly and flops on the bed close to Farrah.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me someday,” they groan and Farrah giggles.

The two of them lie next to each other for a wile, not moving, Aja trying to catch their breath and Farrah doodling shapeless promises on their bare chest.

“Cuddles?” Aja asks after what might have been an hour or only thirty seconds, Farrah’s not sure.

“Cuddles,” Farrah confirms.

They fight with the covers, trying to get under them with as little effort as humanly possible, which ends up in Farrah almost falling off the bed when Aja pulls the comforter slightly too hard from underneath him. That leads in Aja laughing so hard they have tears in their eyes and Farrah pouting a little but being actually very amused, too, Aja apologises with tender kisses all over Farrah’s face, so Farrah guesses he’s the real winner here.

“So Kimora really screamed at you?” he asks when they’re finally cuddled under the covers.

“Really, Farrah? I just sucked you off and all you can think of is Kimora?” Aja inhales sharply in mock offense.

Farrah lets out what has apparently become his signature moan and Aja laughs.

“She indeed did. She fucking went for it. I think the only time she stopped shouting was to say that if this is what being a smart one feels like, then she doesn’t want it.”

Farrah can’t help but laugh, “She’s the fucking best.”

“Shut up and go to sleep before I become overly jealous,” Aja pinches his side, but there’s a set of lips pressed against the back of his head, so he knows they’re not too serious. He rests his hand on top of theirs where it’s placed on his stomach, and lets the exhaustion wash over him.

And when Farrah wakes up the next morning, his back against Aja’s chest and Aja wrapped around him like a human octopus, he thinks that these warm arms, and this steady heartbeat, they feel more like home than anything has before this, and he doesn’t really mind all that much.


End file.
